Web-Spinning Spider-Man
by PhysicalBeing
Summary: A new take on Spider-Man's origin. When Peter Parker gets Spider powers, how would he react in the modern world? How would the world react? How would his school- and his crush- react? And how would a certain ex-mercenary turned arachnid-themed super-villain react? Find out!
1. Chapter 1

**_Chapter One: A Fangfull_**

 **Midtown High, Classroom 3-08, 8:30 AM**

Peter Parker, the spectacular science champion!

Yeah, that didn't really have a nice ring.

Peter Parker's hyperactive, neurotic mind raced as he rubbed his acne-ridden face, sitting up straight. He was in History class- first period. The 15 year old wasn't a morning person, but he never had a problem staying up in those early hours. No, the problem was that he was simply bored by History. Yeah, it was important, and he got that- he wasn't an anti-academic airhead like Flash Thompson, but he wasn't interested in the humanities or those sorts of things- what really engaged him was numbers, and most importantly, his true love- science.

Today was special. It was the beginning of his sophomore year of highschool, and, after two weeks of practical nothingness, the Science Club would finally kick off its year with a trip to the Long Island Nuclear Facility- a first for the school, and for Peter. He couldn't wait to go- couldn't wait until he got early dismissed at 1:30 PM, just four hours from now.

Still, the ever-studious Parker took his notes diligently.

The bell rang. Another hour closer.

Next class was Gym. This was his first obstacle today.

In middle school, Peter had been quiet and reserved, never attracting attention. In his freshman year, however, Peter decided this would change. Unfortunately, he wasn't socially aware at all, leading to a great deal of embarrassment for him when he tried to hang out with the 'cool guys' or trying out for sports, something he doubted he'd ever recover from.

Gym class wasn't actually that bad, at least, the first half wasn't- the stretching part. Peter was scrawny, and as such, he was generally flexible. The coach wasn't hostile, and didn't single out Peter. The same couldn't be said for Flash Thompson, who he was unlucky enough to have class with. However, after a few weeks, the teasing had numbed to Peter. He let the jocks have their fun.

Next he had lunch. His second problem.

Lunch was a time for him to sit in peace- unfortunately, there was noise all around him. He didn't like people sitting with or near him, but the lunchroom was big enough to find a decent spot to hide away in. Some people pointed out 'that autist Parker'. Peter was pretty sure he didn't have autism. Pretty sure.

Next class was Algebra II. Most of the class were Juniors, so Peter didn't have to talk. Plus, it was a STEM class, and Pete was good with numbers.

The bell rang at 1:15 PM, but, instead of going to his next period, Peter went down to the meeting place with the members of the Science Club. Midtown High was a championship-level Science Team, but they never seemed to be able to win a competition. But that didn't stop them from trying- something Peter found admirable, thanks to some good ol' moral lessons from Uncle Ben.

He sat alone in the assembly hall. Yeah, the science club was full of nerds, but this wasn't the 1960's- most of them were cool enough, and had their own little cliques.

Because of this, Peter was shocked when he was approached by a clean-featured asian guy, fit but chubby, like a youthful Sumo wrestler. He carried his weight well and had tall, well-trimmed hair. "Hi there," he said. "I'm Ned," he flashed his badge, "I'm in yearbook. They made me come along to take picture of your trip. And you are?"

"I- I'm Peter Parker," he said, "Nice to meet you, Ned."

"Oh, I know you," Peter's hart sank. Was he really that notorious for being a weirdo? "You're Harry Osborn's friend. Is he here?"

Peter exhaled, relieved. He figured Ned was out of the loop. "Yeah, we were friends."

"Were?"

"Yeah. Nothing really happened. We just.. I don't know."

"Well, he's in the club, right? I'm sure he's still cool."

Peter sighed, getting up to walk over to Harry. He was the son of New York's biggest scientist and businessman, Norman Osborn, and looked like a younger version of the 40-year old CEO. He was tall, over six feet tall, with his red-brown hair in a crew cut, showing off his tall forehead and sharp hairline. He had a thin face- one much thinner than the one he had when Peter first met him in middle school.

"Hey, Harry," said Peter, still not really wanting to talk to his old friend.

"Hey Pete," said Harry with delight, the kind that couldn't be faked, "You haven't talked to me all year. What's up with that?"

"I don't know, Harr.. I didn't really feel like a social person."

"Well, like, you never were. But that's the past- I'm glad to have a friend back, right? And maybe you can teach me a few things. I didn't really want to be in this club, again, but dad's still insisting I get into his line of work, and I get some good old fashioned Parker humor." Harry patted his friend on the back.

Peter smiled. He was back- Harry was always entertained by Peter's snarky, crude humor, especially since Harry, as a rich kid, got to hang with the popular kids, all of whom were far more shallow than he was, and he knew it.

"Thanks, Harry. Means a lot, really."

"Anytime, Pete. And hey-" he saw Ned behind Peter, "who are you?"

"Ned Leeds. Photography."

"Sweet. Let's get going, I'm sure Peter can tell us what filthily intelligent people we're gonna try and act like we can hold up to next," he said, sounding both kind at sarcastic at the same time.

* * *

"So, Pete, give us the, uh basic salt on the place we're going?" said, or rather asked, Harry from across the isle on the front of the bus. Ned sat on the window seat behind Peter, who started laughing.

"You mean gestalt, right?"

"Yeah, basic gestalt, whatever."

The boys shared a laugh, and Peter continued accordingly. "The Long Island Nuclear Research Center is a state-of-the-art center, one which has been experimenting on radioactivity and genetic engineering-"

"Wait, they use _both_ radioactivity and engineering?" Asked Ned.

Peter was annoyed by the boy's lack of science knowledge. Pete also suspected the photographer was making fun of him, but he still continued, "Yeah. In the 60's, when the place was founded, nuclear was all the rage. Then, in the 90's and 2000's genetic engineering became big, and now they're doing both, and in some cases, using genetic engineering to prevent radiation poisoning and such, but that's not all. I think it's really cool, as science is all about asking questions, and those questions never really change, even if the answers we come up with shift in and out of popularity. As we advance in tech, I'm totally in agreement with the Center in that-"

"Peter," said Harry, "You're doing it again." He tried to look sympathetic.

Peter had none of it, sitting back in his chair, sighing agitatedly. He was easily agitated, of course, which led to greater satisfaction of his bullies, which made a feedback loop of agitation.

"Peter- don't take that the wrong way, man. You're a nice kid- you know that, right?" said the ginger boy.

Peter didn't make a sound. _Now he apologizes. I bet he isn't even sincere. We've known each other since middle school, and this is what I get. I swear, Uncle Ben and Aunt May are the only good people I know,_ he thought bitterly, sitting still as a statue.

Harry leaned back, not willing to fight a losing battle, "Okay Pete. I'm... sorry I don't have a spoonful of sugar for you."

* * *

 **Long Island Nuclear Research Facility**

While Peter didn't talk to anyone on the class' tour of the Research Center, he enjoyed himself very much, often acting autonomously, acting very fluent in the art of the science done in the lab areas they were allowed in. He was especially excited to go to specimen testing where, even though it was only on primitive invertebrates, the facility would begin the process to see if their creations could directly help humanity- a first for a nuclear facility open to the public!

But with all his knowledge, Peter didn't know that, as he joined back up with the class, when he put his hand on the doorway to walk through it, the thin, light feet of an orb-weaver spider climbed on him, the red and blue creature climbing up his finger, down his hand, and onto his arm. It's first time touching human flesh. The strong spider had been on an adventure, escaping from its test chamber and avoiding detection thanks to numerous genetics tests on it and it's ancestors and a multitude of radioactive exposures, however, the soft cotton of Peter's simple white polo shirt was a foreign substance to the spider. When it was halfway up his upper arm, the spider got confused, and, after nearly an hour of its instincts going crazy due to its newfound freedom, it panicked, and sunk it's fangs into Peter's arm.

"Eep!" screamed the thin boy, grabbing his arm. Everyone looked at him, giggling at the noise he made.

 _Now I've really done it._

* * *

 **Parker House, Astoria, Queens, 2:48 PM**

The Parker House's calm, white and mint-green wooden exterior and tiny, inconsistently green lawn were never the site of much conflict, despite being in a considerably less wealthy neighborhood in Queens. It was built in the 60s, and had been home to a certain happy couple for over 20 years, since the early 90's.

"Peter. Peter? Wake up, Pete," smiled Ben Parker, a squarely-built fifty-so year-old man with a firm jaw and combed-back gray hair, shaking his young nephew in the passenger seat of his car. Peter dozed, and Ben continued, "feeling better, I hope."

"Wha- yeah, Uncle Ben, I'm feeling better."

"But not too much better, right?"

"Huh? Whaddya mean?"

"Well, kid, is just hate to have had to take you home early for sickness when you never had a problem to begin with."

Peter smiled at his uncle, getting out of the car groggily. He would have probably taken that as an insult and insinuation that he was a liar if it was from anybody but his beloved Aunt or Uncle- the former of whom was standing outside, taking care of her quaint windowside garden, as she always was, when not taking care of her husband or nephew of course.

"Pete! I heard you got sick!" exclaimed Aunt May, taking off her gardening gloves and bushing her graying, short, medium-brown hair to the side. She walked over quickly, hugging her precious nephew. She would always do this, even though he was now over an inch taller than her now.

"I'm... mostly fine, Aunt May. I got bit buy some bug in there, I guess, so it might have been an alergic reaction, but it's barely even slowly, so it was probably just something I got on the bus. Those things are-"

"Filthier than a garbage bin," finished May, "I'm glad you listen to what your Uncle and I teach you," patting him on the back.

"Thanks, Aunt May."

"Now come on, I'll get dinner ready."

* * *

A few hours later, Peter started to feel like shit.

He stood up from bed, wearing only plaid boxers and white socks- all he needed to stay warm under the covers usually, but tonight he was miserable. His head hurt. His hands and feet were numb. Every single muscle was sore down to the bone. He could feel a headache, starting in the front of his head, spreading, but never stopping, over his head, past his ears, down his _spinal_ _cord_ , with the soreness of his nerves meeting the numbness of his appendages causing a great degree of discomfort for the 120-pound boy. He tried to put his glasses on, but his vision was better without them. Weird. Really weird. And on top of all of that, he was _hungry_.

Craving meat, he stumbled downstairs. When he swatted at the light switch, his hand stuck to it. _Doesn't Aunt May clean these things?_ Thought Peter, annoyed and confused. It took some focus, but he pulled his hand off of it. To his chagrin, the same thing happened to the refrigerator door.

After a bit, he got that open, and rummaged through the food. In the front was half a chunk of unsliced lunchmeat. _Perfect_. He unwrapped the package, biting into the chunk without caring to do much more in preparation. Before he knew it, he had chomped down the whole thing.

"Peter?" Came an older, feminine voice.

Peter stopped and turned around. "Aunt May," he said groggily, looking at his Aunt in her lavender nightgown and gray-streaked hair.

"What.. what are you doing Petey?"

"I'm sorry Aunt May, I was just.. hungry. Really hungry." He then loudly belched.

"Oh," said May, bemused, "Well, I'm glad you finally have an appetite after all these years, but I'd appreciate it if you told me."

"Okay, Aunt May," yawned the scrawny boy, walking over to get the cupboard for a cup, "But I'm also thirsty. And Sore. And have a headache. I think... that it's because I'm sick. I did feel better earlier."

May supported her nephew's shoulders as he got water from the fridge, "Oh, well, it's just acting up again. Go to the bathroom and then back to bed, okay, sweetie? I'm sure you'll feel fine in the morning."

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

 **Parker House, Astoria, Queens, 7:01 AM**

Peter Parker woke up. He no longer had the throbbing headaches, but his body was still sore. He didn't even want to get up and stretch- but, alas, his alarm went off, so he had to wake up. There was on curious thing though- the clock sounded very far away. Peter tried to turn around, but couldn't. His head felt kind of weird too- where was the pillow? Why couldn't he feel his sheets or mattress? Why could he feel the breeze of a fan right by his ear?

Then he opened his eyes.

 _Holy shit,_ he thought

 _I'm on the ceiling_.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two: Superstar Spider**_

 **Parker House, Astoria, Queens, 7:02 AM**

Ben was still knocking on his door. May was still calling them down for breakfast. His alarm was still going off.

And Peter Parker was _still_ on the ceiling.

 _Okay_ , he thought, _this wasn't a dream. I've been up for two whole minutes- and I've been up, as in up here, haha. Why do I haha in my head? I didn't laugh out loud. My internal monologue is wonky..._

Another knock startled Peter, sending him falling to his bed.

"Pete? Did I hear something?"

"No! Well, yes- I, uh, fell out of bed. Sorry about that! I'll fix it! I mean, I did- I stood up, so, you know, that's fixed. And I'm not hurt," came a wild-minded response.

"Okay, Pete. Now don't keep you Aunt waiting!"

Peter didn't even hear him- he was in awe. He squeezed his arms, still sore, but now toned with muscle. Same with his legs and abs, he soon found- he had abs!

 _I wonder..._ Thought Peter, but then for once in his life, he didn't flip- he jumped up, pulled his legs over his face, spun, and landed back where he started. _I did it! I- I can actually do a flip!_

Peter decided not to keep testing himself, as he was surely making lots of noise. Instead, he went to the bathroom, which he soon regretted, as he seemed to have lost quite a bit of control- every push and pull he made was strengthened seemingly by a hundred. He splattered toothpaste on his mirror, nearly tore off the sink's handle, and actually did tear off a towel ring hanging on the wall.

 _Okay, maybe not so cool. But maybe..._ an idea sprung into his head- a scheme, really, and Peter never schemed. But this was a brand new day.

* * *

 **Midtown High Grounds, 3:08 PM**

It was an open secret among the non-freshman classes that Kong, a tall, fat football player whose real name Peter honestly didn't know, would regularly go to a fight club after school, make a few bets on who'd win what. Peter never saw the appeal, but now, armed with a red ski mask and his newfound strength, he believed this could finally be the big break he'd been wanting since Seventh Grade- the key was, at first, to stay anonymous. Then he'd never get bullied, and hid aunt and uncle wouldn't worry incessantly. Oh yes, Peter's scheme was looking excellent.

So now, Peter followed Kong through the streets of Midtown. While the football player lumbered through the road, the masked boy practiced his moves. When he came face-to-face with a sheer brick wall, Peter decided to reenact what he could about that morning. He put his hands flat on the brick and tried to pull himself up. Didn't work. Peter repeated his attempts, but not for too long, not wanting to exhaust himself this early, but not giving up either. Peter then remembered- it was a Spider that bit him- and how do spiders crawl?

Peter touched his fingertips to the wall, concentrating on the thought of digging into the walls with his fingerprints' grooves, and, after focusing for a bit, he pulled himself up. It worked!

"Taa-daa," whispered Peter to himself, jumping off the wall to stretch before clumsily trying to climb it all the way up.

He slipped a few times, but got there. He ran over to the edge of the building. Kong was still easily seen- next, came jumping the alley.

Below Peter, and between him and his destination, was at the very least this dark, damp, dirty alleyway. Unwilling to explain why he stunk of trash, Peter hoped he'd successfully hop it. He crouched down, feeling his leg muscles tense up. He backed up, spring loading himself, then launched forward. He not only cleared the alleyway's sheer drop, but totally bypassed it, landing closer to the next alley than this one. For that one, he got in position, than sprang up, much quicker and more casual than normal. He got over this one sufficiently too- it seemed, even in these powers, he was a fast learner.

The next one, he decided to get a running start for. That's when it stopped being a challenge, and just became fun. He had to be careful though, and make sure he was at most a bit ahead of Kong. Thankfully, it looked like this next block was it.

The front exit of the squat, brick building where the fight club, or at the very least its entrance (Peter hoped the latter, as, the more secret things were, the more value could be gained, and Peter was here for money), was in looked completely deserted, but Kong and another guy went into the side. To play it extra safe, the masked Peter went in through the back door, in an alleyway.

He crawled in a window, sticking to the ceiling. He knew that anybody who had peripheral vision could easily see him, but it comforted him. He climbed into an air vent, expecting a metal tunnel, but instead simply ended in a mess of pipes and wires. _Guess I'm in the ceiling,_ though Peter, _I guess this makes more sense than a man-sized air vent._

Peter eventually found the center of the club, a bare 'ring' of bloody carpet placed in the middle of the wheeled-in bleachers, where a massive bald man was laying the beatdown on a shorter, but wider, black-haired bearded man in a square, stuffy room, with the only source of light being the white stage light above the ring and the red glow of the scoreboards. About a hundred people cheered on the victorious wrestler.

"AAAAAANNND Crusher Hogan beats another!" Exclaimed an announcer in a cheap suit with round sunglasses, "Well, folks! That's aaaall we have tonight- and, well, its not EVEN FOUR yet! Anyone else willing to step into the ring, and try and beat Hogan's month-long WINNING STREAK?!"

Another man, fatter but in an equally cheap suit, honked a bullhorn from behind a desk in front of a scoreboard showing bets near the ceiling, above the bleachers. The red sign changed, with the main screen reading REGISTER HERE. Nobody came except the thin masked man in what looked like a leather jacket and a red morphsuit.

"What the-" questioned the man, sweating in the heat of the airconditioningless room.

"Hi. I'm, uh, here to fight. And win," said Peter, trying to disguise his voice.

The man laughed, greatly irritating Peter, "I'm not here to let you pay to get yourself brain damage, kid. Even if you've already got some, which wouldn't surprise me, dressed like that."

Peter didn't know what to say. He was angry, but that couldn't be seen under the mask. He muttered something under his breath, and then punched a support beam, leaving a knuckle-shaped dent in the metal.

"I've trained for years on how to use my body's full potential."

"Bullshiiit," sighed the man.

"It's not!" Peter growled louder, "For example, when you're hit by electricity, your body can fly across the room, not by the force of the shock, but by your muscles! That means a normal human has that much potential strength in their muscles. But guess what," Peter slammed his fist on the desk, "I don't _need_ any stupid electricity."

The man blinked. "All, all right Mr., uhh-?"

Peter blinked too, "I'm Pe- no..." he started speaking deep and raspy again, "I'm the Spider!"

The man rolled his eyes, "We already got a guy who got 'is ass kicked a few weeks ago callin' 'imself the Spider. Are you 'im, kid?"

"I- don't call me kid! I'm more of a man than you are! I'm.. I'm Spider-Man!"

* * *

"Alrighty, bastards and blowhards, we got ourselves some fresh meat!" yelled the announcer, "I present to you, the AMAZING SPIDER-MAN."

Peter zipped up the leather jacket and waved the ski mask to cool his sweat, and then walked onstage, standing up straight under a spotlight, trying his best to bask.

Most people seemed confused, and murmurs went through the crowd, _who is this twig thinking he can go against Crusher?_ They were stopped by the shrill clap of the announcer's hands by the microphone echoing across the room.

"Alright, future ass kicker and ass kickee," he said, chewing on the scenery so much that it was clear he'd never make it on television, "get in your repsective corners. I trust you both know that, as any good fight club is, the first rule is that there are no rules! NOWWW- GO!"

 _Shit,_ thought Peter, _I could've sworn the first rule was that you don't speak about fight club._ Hogan ran at him, stopping halfway there so that his momentum couldn't be used against him, but still nearly ramming into Peter like a flying brick. The back of Peter's neck twinged again, and he reflexively swerved out of the way. _Now is_ really not _the time for pop culture references._

Peter reached both hands above his head, inhaled deeply, and jumped with all his strength- which was a _lot_ more than expect. He flew- flew!- through the air, far above Hogan's head.

"Whoa-whoaaa-woaaaah!" yelled Peter, his voice muffled by the mask, which almost came within a foot of the the steel vaulting on the ceiling. His parabola reached its arc, and he flew back down. _Dammit, this is gonna hurrrt,_ Peter curled into a fetal position, hands protecting his head from the oncoming concrete floor.

Suddenly, he was fine- a little jaded mentally, but fine. He landed on his feet! And his knees barely hurt, despite falling 20 feet. _Oh, now this-_

 _POW!_ Hogan had body-slammed Peter, easily body-slamming the thin boy.

 _Crap, crap! No way I can get out of this!_ He kicked a few times at Hogan, _thud_ ding on his barrel chest, doing far more than Peter expected, but the wrestler's center of gravity was too low to change now. Peter's thin foot slipped out as Hogan readjusted his weight, pushing Peter down harder onto the smooth, cold concrete.

"You can tap out whenever you want, Sonny boy!" Said the announcer.

Peter was determined like he'd never been in his life. His free foot flailed around, reaching up. Hogan was on his side, his right elbow at Peter's chin. The free foot streched, and Peter realized how flexible he was. He felt around, and found Hogan's pelvis. Peter, of course, knew how much a good pelvis hit hurt, so he tightened his leg and kicked Hogan's bone with all his might.

Hogan's face tightened with pain and anger, but his body let up. Peter slipped to the side, clinging to his wide torso, and shimmied over to his opponent's back. Hogan then employed the 'fall back' strategy, trying to pin Peter down again, but this time, the teen was ready. He jumped with significantly less effort than last time, flipping casually, and landing on Hogan's upper back, slamming the man's front right into the flat floor. His jaw made an _ugly_ noise.

Peter hopped off his back, feeling better, but still terrified. Hogan got up and charged at Peter again, this time with more focus in his eyes, which were looking right into Peter's masked ones.

Peter simply rolled down onto the floor, tripping Hogan.

When Peter looked back, Hogan was holding his bloody nose, tapping his hand. Pete had won.

* * *

Crusher Hogan

Bonesaw

Mountain Man Marko

Grizzly

Styx

The Walrus

The Kangaroo (what was up with these animal names? It was totally a phase.)

Within the next month, Peter had beaten multiple wrestlers, some twice, and things were looking up. By October, Peter had stopped looking forward to seeing his Aunt and Uncle at home. Midway through the month, he had started going multiple times a week, and soon every day. By Halloween, his winnings were adding up to ten grand.

* * *

 **Halloween Night, 7:02 PM, East River Fight Club**

"Heh, geddit? 'Cuz his twin brother was Styx? Anyway, congrats, Spider-dude," said the counter, tallying off bills to give to the victorious boy in the old building's dark back room.

Peter had just beaten Stone, well-known twin brother of wrestler Styx. The two of them had been fighting at every underground fight club from Staten Island to Brooklyn to the Bronx. And he had just established himself as better than both of them. Dozens of loosing fans were screaming at Peter from behind the doors, very unhappier.

"Thanks again, bro," said Peter, counting up the sweet 350$, sticking his hands into the light, "And Happy Halloween!"

"Oh, Happier Halloween to yous, kid. After all, that's a nice extra hundred bucks you got yourself today. Oh, and nice costume. It suits ya."

Peter stepped outside into the lamplight, smug and satisfied. He was wearing a new costume, special made for Halloween, but he thought he'd keep it. It was based on a custom three-ply spandex morph suit with black webbed detailing on it. All of the red was designed to look sharp, tapering into points on his gloves, boots, shoulders, and belt. It also had blue on is arms, sides, legs, and back. His eyes were wide and white, giving a boyish look, despite how formidable he was. The drumming of the angry fans was a nice sound to walk away to. He also had a hoodie over it right now.

"Thanks. I'll leave you overnight to calculate my bonus."

The man laughed, "What bonus, kid?"

"My Halloween bonus. You agreed I'd get it."

"And what do you call that hundred extra?"

"I call it betting wins- you said win or lose! What is stone getting?" Peter walked back in, slamming his hands on the table.

"Take what you get or you get nothing ever again." Said the man matter-of-factly, leaning back into his chair.

Peter stormed out in a huff. A few moments later, a jogger ran past, holding a metal box in his hand.

"Hey! Hey!" yelled the man, storming out of the club, huffing and puffing as he tried to catch the lean robber, "Hey, what the hell, Spider? You could've kicked his ass! And now we're down a night of betting money!"

Peter turned around, looking at the man with his mask's blank white eyes. They could morph to his expressions, but Peter tried not to emote, "Oh well. Don't act like the upkeep for that place was too expensive anyways. But maybe you should consider the power of karma in this.." he turned and kept walking, no longer caring about his bonus. The man stared, and then ran back. Peter, on the other hand, went into an alleyway, hopping up the fire escapes onto the roof, looking over this wonderful city, beautiful in its own way.

Peter pulled out his phone. Twelve messages from Uncle Ben, about how he was worried about the boy. Peter scoffed _same thing every night_. Before getting powers, he would've been in distress, but now he couldn't care less.

 _We used location services, and you aren't at school. Since you won't respond, I'm coming to you_.

Peter sighed. He'd have to change and find some little restaurant to pretend to have spent all his time in, and say the money was from cryptocurrency investments, but nothing too bad.

On the phone screen, typing dots came up. Dots. Dots. Dots

 _No way he's writing an essay, I haven't said anything. Damn connection_.

Peter hoped around the rooftops, taking off his mask to feel the wind.

His peace was disturbed by a gunshot.

 _Well, at least this is interesting,_ thought Peter in a grumbling tone, if grumbling could be done mentally.

He hopped up, and started jumping over rooftops, using the inexplicable power of sticking, even with his shoes on, to rock every landing. He'd gotten damn good at it recently. He kept running and jumping, never afraid, right until he came across a small crowd of people around a man on the ground.

 _I wonder which jackass got himself shot today_ , thought Peter. He checked his phone- still no messages from Uncle Ben. The typing dots had stopped. _Guess I have time to rubberneck._

He put his phone in a pocket on the inside of his jacket, then took off his mask and stuffed it into there too, and finally zipped up his jacket, now fully Peter Parker and not the Spider-Man, and peered over the ledge to the person who was. Looking from a distance, it seemed to be an older man- not quite heavy, but solidly built. A gunshot in the chest- ouch, that's gotta sting. He had gray hair, and white on his temples, but mostly a full head of hair. It kind of looked like...

"Nah," chuckled Peter with wavering in his throat, "No, no. No way. Why would I think that? Pssh.."

The man had a phone by him, like it had just fallen out of his hand, facing down.

Peter's face was still as a statue as he pulled out his phone. 'Uncle Ben?' he typed. Ben always had the old person thing on his phone where it buzzed and the flashlight flashed- it'd be easy to see.

 _Delivered_

He looked at the man's phone. The screen lit up.

"No.. no, no, no. No!"

'Uncle Ben?' he typed again, climbing onto the ledge to where he'd have fallen off if he couldn't stick to it.

The cracked phone lit up again.

"No! NO!"

An ambulance pulled up. Peter jumped off the roof and bolted to the man.

"Uncle Ben?! UNCLE BEN?!"


End file.
